Carolina Rebel by Patricia Rice

Author:Patricia Rice
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2013-02-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Purple mushrooms exploded across the monitor to the tune of "Love Me Do."

Lying on his side, Clay awoke in such a cloud of contentment, he wondered if the mushrooms flashing before his eyes were hallucinogenic.

Then the scent of strawberries reached him, and he realized the soft cushion of breasts that had warmed him all night had disappeared. Missing them, missing Aurora's warm body next to his, he shifted position so he could see the end of the couch.

In the soft light of dawn, Aurora sat splendidly naked at his feet, absorbed in manipulating the game controller, trying to conquer the game that he'd created. It was such a glorious sight, he thought he might lie here forever and just watch. Fantasies of waking up like this every morning danced through his addled head.

Fantasies that encouraged more physical urges.

He stroked his toe against her bare hip to show he was awake and willing. She stopped playing to regard him cautiously. That wasn't the reaction he wanted, but it was better than some he could name. At least she hadn't wrapped herself up in armor again.

"Good morning, my queen." He propped himself on his elbow and inquired, "How soon can we expect your father to arrive?"

She didn't shriek or run, and hope ran rampant. Maybe he hadn't imagined they'd connected on a deeper level than the physical last night. Maybe she'd simply retreated to the game because she was shy of the intensity of that connection. It certainly made him nervous, but he was prepared to take risks. She wasn't.

To his regret, she apparently decided against extending their pleasurable interlude. In a fluid movement of breasts and hips and cascading hair that captured his admiration, she grabbed her denim dress off the floor.

Feeling a bit exposed, Clay grappled on the rug for his khakis. She dropped them on his lap before wiggling her dress on.

He wasn't adept at reading women, but he figured her continued silence didn't bode well. Last night hadn't been enough for him. He'd thought she felt the same. Maybe she wasn't a morning person.

He watched with regret as the denim slid to cover rosy nipples, supple curves, and finally, the darker red of curls no longer concealed by panties. His Viking princess radiated the colors of dawn and the sensuality of an earth goddess. She grounded him in reality, and he wanted to keep her around longer.

He tugged on his khakis, and wadded his shorts up with the shirt he'd borrowed. "Coffee?"

He meant to make it for her, but she nodded and pattered off in bare feet to find the beans and fill the pot. Fearing anything he said would set her off in the wrong direction, Clay wandered back to her bathroom to make himself presentable—not an easy task without a razor.

He grimaced at his whisker-stubbled face in the mirror, took a quick shower, and ran a comb through his hair. Normally, the morning after, he just wanted the woman he was with to go away so he could get back to work.

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